Basaltique
by K0USAGI
Summary: (Lacewoodshipping) A short and sweet little fluff drabble prompted by the ask, "Sycamore teaching Serena French?"


Serena hadn't been surprised at how many of the Professor's books were in Kalosian—but every so often she spotted one in Unovan. Usually a duplicate of a textbook or a collection of old poetry and hundred-year-old literature. Her fingertips traced along their worn spines as she read through the titles. Her mind was elsewhere—so many places at once when she was around him—he was speaking over the holocaster with an old mentor of his. Serena stepped out of the holocaster's line of sight and busied herself with the Professor's bookshelves while they spoke.

Every so often, she could pick apart a few of his words, though it had been far too many years since she could call Kalosian her own native tongue. Moving away with her mother at such an early age had made Unovan more her mother tongue than anything else…

For a moment, Serena's mind was drifting away from that hypnotic melody of the Professor's voice and indecipherable words. She found herself dwelling on that realization—that she would understand him if she'd stayed in Kalos. It was a strange sense of disconnection, she concluded. She was in the country she was born in, but felt entirely alien to it. Odd…

She glanced back up again at the copy of _Le Fleurs du mal _and the illustration of a wiry black flower on it's spine. Just beside it was an identical, though worn Unovan copy, marked through with translations from Kalosian. She thumbed through the pages, reading his notes in his sketchy, upward-slanting scrawl. The first few poems were nonsensical, literal translations that made scarcely any sense in Unovan.

A few more pages further, she found a rather beaten page, worn out by heavy erasing and smudged pencil. But the result had left the first elegant translation she'd seen.

_I remember living beneath vast portals,_  
_Where the sunlit ocean took a thousand colors,_  
_Tall, grand pillars stood straight and majestic_  
_In basaltique evening grottos_

"Basaltique…" Serena murmured to herself aloud, reading further. She recognized some meaning from the Unovan copy she'd read a hundred times over in high school. It was different, however. Far different, in fact.

_Sea swells rolled with images of heaven,_  
_Mixing in solace, in mystical way_  
_An almighty chorus of deep melodies_  
_Refracted in one's eyes_

A soft breath that wasn't her own mingled in with the sudden silence. A presence warmed Serena, tall and overlooking. She realized that she no longer heard the Professor speaking on the holocaster—he was standing beside her, reading over her shoulder. Serena glanced up, seeing him with a hand over his mouth, to hide the embarassed grin and chuckling. She caught the faint hue of blush on his ears.

"Don't read it, it's horrible…!" He said, reaching around her for the book. Serena tugged it away playfully.

"It's not horrible. It's actually really beautiful."

"It's… it's Baudelaire's work that's beautiful. My notes are just the jumbled mis-translations of a high school student."

"But you still made something I could understand. I think that's beautiful." Serena said, still holding the withered old book out of arm's reach. Still, though, the Professor was all gangly long limbs and reached over to snatch the book away with ease. He tucked it atop the shelf, still red in the face and clearing his throat.

"It's horrible." He said again, as Serena made a pouty face. He quirked one thick eyebrow, still half-covering his embarrassed face. Finally, he asked, "…_tu ne comprends pas le Kalosian?_"

Serena had a feeling she knew what he asked, if only by context alone. It was her turn to feel her cheeks go hot and red as she turned her gaze downward, "…um…"

There was silence for a moment, before she said, "I… only remember a little bit. My mother and I moved to Unova when I was really little. So… I guess I lucked out that most things are written and spoken in Unovan here, too."

The Professor nodded understandingly, before giving her a playful pat on the head, "You want to learn?"

As if she could blush any further, Serena felt the butterflies take on some wild sort of dance inside her. She grinned up at him, nodding with eagerness.

"Try to keep up then, _ma chérie._" The Professor teased.

"Ha, don't go easy on me!" Serena challenged.

He laughed—that wonderful laugh she would so happily go out of her way to hear.

"Which reminds me, what was it you came to visit for? I apologize for making you wait through that long holocaster call."

"Er… just…" Serena had already forgotten the excuse she'd forged on her way there. He'd just evaluated her pokedex the other day… and she'd tagged along with him for the afternoon before that, saying it was to bide time while waiting for Shauna. The seconds were ticking and his gaze was boring into her. Gentle, but still, she was oddly slow to answer all of the sudden—and the Professor was steadily catching on.

"_Ne t'inquiète pas, ma chère. _You don't need a reason." He chuckled, his voice like rich wine.


End file.
